


Morning and Glory

by trashpocket



Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [1]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: (but they're oblivious), (for now) - Freeform, (if you squint), Comfort, Cuddling, Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Musing, Nightmares, Safety, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/pseuds/trashpocket
Summary: The dawn that peaked through the window and illuminated the room in a soft glow revealed that the Scout wasn’t underneath Emil’s bed. Widening her eyes, Sigrun sprung up lightly on her feet, taking only a few tall strides to get to Emil’s bed--and she softened at the sight presented to her, her panic calming down into understanding.Or: a story in which Emil muses on his life so far and near-death experiences with Lalli, and needs help sleeping through the terrors of the night.
Relationships: Lalli Hotakainen & Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström
Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835107
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Morning and Glory

**Author's Note:**

> My laptop for *some reason* is unable to put accents and diacritical marks above the vowels for Emil's name, and I just gave up. So, I'm sorry if I didn't type Emil's name (last name, really) right, throughout the whole fic. 
> 
> The Italics that Lalli speaks are his usual Finnish (because I don't know the language). 
> 
> Oh, and this wasn't beta'd or proof read as much, so I'm sorry for any pain that may occur on the way.

As a Cleanser, he is the wielder of flames. The fire is his shield and his weapon, the evidence of his mastery of it lingering on the small burns and scars on the pads of his fingers; on the edges of his knuckles and the brush of his callouses. Those blemishes could be easily hidden away with his gloves, but what mattered to him the most was his face. _A Vasterstrom would never disgrace themselves by marring their own face._ The vain lesson had been pounded hard into his head, with his spoiled up-bringing. He was taught to distaste dirt and struggle; brought up to believe that he should be _beneath_ effort and hardship, since everything came to him on a silver platter. _But then, he and his family had lost all of that_ . In a blink of an eye, all of his riches and his pampering were gone. He wanted his riches back; his glory and his status, but as a Vasterstrom, he hardly _knew_ dirt, and struggle, and blemishes. _So, he hardly knew how to get glory back._

There really wasn’t anything dangerous he had done to warrant himself any injuries or scars, until he had decided to join the Cleansers and enlist in the army. Joined those who handled fire like a friend, and set ablaze to the danger that lingered in dark woods, and hidden foliage. Except, during his time in the military, he hadn’t even _had_ a proper meeting with trolls and beasts, and giants. 

Emil Vasterstrom, a pompous, disgraced upper-class Swede, who didn’t know much struggle in his life, learned how to handle fire, without having experience with the monsters he was supposed to kill. To be frank, he was like a _child_ being handed a flamethrower, tasked to bring back glory to his name. He did not enjoy burning forests, and destroying the habitats of harmless animals (and burning precious wood), so it was probably why he didn’t enjoy much of his time serving in the Cleansers. _That, and he could hardly make friends._

The Cleansers served lives of fleeting glory; they saved people by cleaning the lands, clearing them of nasty trolls, and expanding the territory slowly, year by year. Their job was silent, and the only things that spoke louder were the forests burning by the edge of his sight, ashes fading into the night. Being a Cleanser meant silent, boring, _constant_ service to the public that earned him an at least _okay_ salary. But it wasn’t enough for Emil.

Emil had thought he’d live a life of glory among the Cleansers back at home, but all that waited for him there was a waning presence, a silent suffering, and a glory no more greater than the sparks that lit and died into the night ( _by the edge of the window, and disappearing out of sight under the wake of dawn_ ). 

_But_ \--Emil laughed at himself-- _he was still foolish to think he’d find_ glory _in the Silent World._

Ruins of old civilization lay bare to them, void of life and filled with the spirits of the lost and the forms of those corrupted. No proper soul spoke out here, and nobody could hear their dying breaths, if ever it was to be stolen from their heaving lungs. Every step was a step closer to death, and one wrong sound could spell the awakening of a troll, a beast, a giant, or something _worse_. 

And who knew that stupid, little _dusklings_ would be the worst. Would be the near death of him. 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. 

There was no glory out here; no fire as a protection and a weapon when they could be easily overwhelmed. No safe haven, like his warm cushioned house, and sprawling lands outside. There was no more worry for his vanity, and no more worrying over himself. 

Not one soul to hear his dying words. 

Except for Lalli. Emil had Lalli Hotakainen, but he didn’t want Lalli to hear and bear his last words. That would be too much for him. There was already so much that Lalli had to worry about, and with the dusklings being Emil’s fault, he couldn’t just allow himself to die and be left to poor Lalli’s hands. 

Lalli didn’t deserve to carry the corpse of his messy Swedish friend. 

So, when they ran and ran, till their lungs felt like it was being stolen away from their chests, and their legs burned like brilliant fire, they ran some more. Emil ran away--so impossibly far away, from death, mouldy places, the dusklings, and from the silly notions of glory. He ran, till he knew, in his beating heart, that he was alive. 

It felt like cold fire in his veins, but _alive_. 

It was jarring, to the point where Emil was even astonished to know that he could still feel the flesh upon his skin, and hear Lalli’s panting breaths that nearly mirrored his own. Feel the wind whipping past him, and the sun greeting him with a new day, though to Emil, it felt like a silent mock. He felt the way Lalli punched his shoulder, could feel the exhaustion creeping deep in his bones, but he could still muster a reaction and feel the edges of his lips tug into a smile. It was jarring to be alive, when you’ve been so sure that you were about to succumb to death.

But he hadn’t. _He lived._

Yet, being alive meant that he had to live with the memories of what happened. Being alive meant reliving the past, and feeling nightmares and terror. 

Being alive meant he had to _wait_. 

And he didn’t have to wait long. 

Nightmares of lonely nights, a dead Lalli, and hundreds of little trolls ran rampant through his mind. Emil could never really scream in terror at the end of his nightmares, afraid to wake Lalli and the others up. It would embarrass him to no end, even though it was understandable to have night terrors. _Even Reynir cried in his sleep sometimes, but Emil didn’t want to be the same._ His nightmares were always along the fashion of being lonely, left in a mouldy, ancient home, either with a dead Lalli, or hundreds of little trolls. 

And the voices always lingered and persisted. 

The very same voices that pushed his body to move without his own accord, and pushed him and Lalli closer to their doom. 

It didn’t take long for Lalli to notice Emil’s night terrors, however. It didn’t take long for Emil to feel like he was living again, rather than dying in his dreams. It didn’t take long for the voices to stop. It happened a few nights in, after they had finally reunited with Sigrun and the others. It went something like this: 

On the third or fourth night when they had returned from their near death expedition, Emil woke up again with a startle, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he tried to erase the sight of Lalli’s body being eaten by hundreds of little trolls. _His fault--all Emil’s fault_ , the voice would say. Taunt him until his legs gave way for the ground to swallow him up, and for his heart to burst in heavy anguish and regret. 

Emil shook his head, feeling the cold sweat run down his face. His hair was a big mess on top of his head, and the heavy bags beneath his eyes weren’t any better. Emil was terrified to go to sleep, or to even close his eyes for all that mattered. The shadows in the old barracks weren’t being kind to him either, and it was still way too long into the night for him to be up. Emil heaved out one last panicked breath, trying to calm himself down.

He lied back down, on the dirty, hard bed, but he could not muster the strength in himself to close his eyes. Not once. He feared what he would see, if he so much as winked at all. Turning his head slightly, edging his head near the edge of his bed to peer at where Lalli had taken residence underneath, Emil nearly startled when he saw Lalli’s eyes peering back at him, pale blue eyes piercing in the dark night. Lalli was lying down on his back, looking at Emil with unblinking, curious eyes. 

“ _Lalli!_ ” Emil whisper-shouted, a hand flying to his chest to calm his rapidly beating heart. “You scared me!” 

Lalli didn’t say a thing (probably because he still didn’t understand Swedish), opting to keep staring at Emil, eyes glinting in a manner that Emil thought Lalli was probably observing him. Sighing, Emil rolled over onto his stomach, arm dangling over the edge to pat at Lalli’s head, on the crown. He brushed the strands of ash blonde hair into place, letting the physical contact ground down his aching soul. _Lalli was alive_ . _That was a solid fact._ “I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Lalli.” 

Lalli didn’t understand, but he _did_ have a feeling that Emil apologized to him because of his tone of voice (though apologizing for what, he didn’t know). So he didn’t deign Emil’s apology with a response, though he did huff at Emil’s hand, that was patting his head. Emil startled though, when Lalli emerged from under the bed, the moonlight peeking through the window bathing Lalli’s lithe form almost otherworldly as he moved. Emil could only stare. 

Lalli knelt in front of Emil’s bed, and stared pensively, not saying anything. 

Awkwardly shifting his gaze away, Emil asked as he sat up. “I-is there anything wrong?” He coughed, and attempted in Finnish. “ _Any--uh, wrong?_ ” 

Lalli, with an unimpressed look on his face, put his finger under Emil’s chin and shut his mouth successfully from speaking any more horrible Finnish. From Emil’s sheepish look, he probably knew his Finnish was horrible as well. Proceeding to stare back at Emil once again, Lalli leaned back to analyze him. 

“ _This is the fourth night now._ ” Lalli had told him, hoping Emil would understand that he was referring to Emil’s night terrors. Emil was hardly vocal in his night terrors, but it never escaped Lalli when his breathing would shift, and his small horrified gasps would echo. The others were oblivious, but Lalli knew Emil a bit better than they did, especially with the nights Lalli spent in Emil’s head. He knew the nightmares would’ve come to Emil eventually. _He just never imagined that Emil would call out his name in anguish and despair._ It made Lalli feel an odd sort of indirect guilt. He hadn’t bothered Emil the first three nights of his nightmares, because he knew that Emil tried his best to hide it away from him, and knowing the pompous, messy Swede, he’d find it embarrassing if Lalli confronted him about it. But enough was enough. 

Lalli waited for Emil to speak.

“Fourth?” Emil echoed, that being one of the Finnish words he vaguely remembered. _Fourth? Fourth what?....Oh._ Emil widened his eyes, before casting his gaze away from Lalli, heat rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment and mortification. He felt shame dig deep into his stomach, and Emil curled in on himself, grimacing. His scarred hands went to brush a spot underneath his chin nervously, the same place where Lalli’s fingers would shut him up when he spoke horrible Finnish, before his hands went to fiddle with the ends of his hair.

“Oh,” he said lamely, eyes looking everywhere _but_ Lalli, who was half-bathed in the light of the moon. “I-I’m sorry if I bothered you with my silly dreams,” Emil laughed rather humorlessly. “It must’ve been an inconvenience to keep waking up to me like that, huh? Y-you need your rest, you know, so you should’ve just told me I was bothering you. Ugh, I’m so _stupid_ ; I’m sorry, Lalli _._ ” 

Emil didn’t know what to do. Should he get out of bed, move away from Lalli, who he had disturbed ( _who he saw die several times for the past nights_ ), or stay and just go to sleep? Neither seemed so desirable to Emil, as he fumbled and avoided eye contact with Lalli, who seemed to only grow more frustrated as Emil avoided meeting his eyes. Lalli couldn’t understand his nervous ramblings, and all he wanted was for the dear Swede to look at him so he could help him. Though, Lalli didn’t exactly _know_ how to convey that he wanted to help his poor, idiotic friend, so Lalli scowled at Emil.

“ _Stupid Swede_ .” Lalli called him, which made Emil pause enough for Lalli to push the fumbling, messy Swede onto his back on the bed, head meeting the hard makeshift pillow. Emil was about to shout out his surprise, but his words were silenced when long, warm hands met the golden locks on his head, fingers digging into the tresses, and brushing them neatly into place. The sensation felt familiar, and safe; something like warmth. _Like home_. 

“Wh-what?” Emil managed. 

Lalli focused on Emil, huffing lightly under his breath. “ _Sleep_ .” That word, Emil understood. It brought stirrings of nostalgia in his chest, reminiscing of the time back in the train, attacked by that troll. It brought a brief smile to Emil’s lips, who relaxed into Lalli’s long fingers, but he could not sleep. He was afraid he’d fall into his nightmare again and watch Lalli die, before he joined him in death. He was scared of closing his eyes to see his friend’s corpse in front of him. Was afraid of it being all of Emil’s fault once again ( _because in his nightmares, it always was_ ).

“I...I,” Emil stuttered, not finding the words to verbalize his fear. Emil tilted his head back as much as he could on the hard pillow, and looked at Lalli, who looked strange upside down. But nonetheless, he looked Lalli in the eyes and conveyed his emotions as much as he could. “ _Scared_.” He simply said in Finnish. 

Lalli understood, and once again, he said, “ _Sleep._ ” Emil only furrowed his brows, refusing to close his eyes, and Lalli released a long-suffering sigh through his nose. “ _Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up._ ” Lalli knew that the nightmares Emil were having was probably something related to their close deaths, back there. Especially since Lalli heard his own name fall from Emil’s lips, filled with such deep despair and sadness, Lalli couldn’t help but feel his heart twinge for his somewhat friend. 

Lalli didn’t know whether or not Emil had gotten what he had said, but Emil simply said something in Swedish, scooching himself to the wall, and pressing his side against it. Lalli only stared as Emil patted the free spot next to him, looking uncertain, but also resolute. 

“I think I feel more safe when you’re next to me, just like back...there,” Emil finished rather weakly, and though Lalli understood virtually _nothing_ , he knew the haunted look in Emil’s eyes. Emil never really pleaded with Lalli, but the look in his eyes was what one would call a _plea for help_ , and Lalli didn’t know whether or not the feeling of warmth in his chest was good, because of the notion that Emil thought of Lalli as his safety. As someone he could trust for comfort. Or at least, someone he trusted enough to have him sleep by his side to override the nightmares. That’s what he got at least, from Emil’s actions. Emil wanted him close by his side. 

It made Lalli feel warm, the same way Emil’s coat would, whenever he stole the damn thing.

Wordlessly, Lalli slid into the bed, slipping underneath the covers and returning his hands into Emil’s hair. Emil seemed to melt under his touch, and Lalli twitched, with how vulnerable Emil allowed himself to be; how defenseless he seemed. It’s bad to allow one’s defenses to be down, but Lalli wasn’t exactly _displeased_ with Emil lowering his own guard around him. It somehow made this situation much better and bearable. Made him feel special _. Needed._

It didn’t take long for Emil’s calm cycle of breathing to begin to affect his own. Somehow, this close vulnerability and safety made Lalli feel safe and protected. Something akin to home; the forests of Finland, dancing in warm spots and clearings closest to the beat of the sun. Lalli closed his eyes, fingers tangled in Emil’s hair, as golden as sunbeams but silver in the moonlight; the strands felt so much like white ribbons strung in between his fingers, soft and silky. 

Emil only woke once that night with a gasp, startling Lalli out of his sleep. Emil only held Lalli closer as Lalli brushed his hair once again. Emil fell back asleep, closer to Lalli than before. 

Lalli didn’t mind. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When Sigrun awoke before the crack of dawn, she hadn’t really expected anything besides the creeping dawn, breaking through the horizon. Senses alert, after yawning lazily and stretching her back bones until she heard the satisfying pops and cracks of her spine, she looked around the room to check on her company. Were they ill? In pain? Was one of them missing?

The dawn that peaked through the window and illuminated the room in a soft glow revealed that the Scout wasn’t underneath Emil’s bed. Widening her eyes, Sigrun sprung up lightly on her feet, taking only a few tall strides to get to Emil’s bed--and she softened at the sight presented to her, her panic calming down into understanding. 

Lalli held Emil’s head, as if he were cradling it from hearing terrible things, and Emil’s one arm slung protectively over Lalli’s form. There was a certain vulnerability about them that dissuaded the strict side of Sigrun from reprimanding them on any relationships between team members. They held each other as if they were defending each other, but from what? Sigrun didn’t know. But it’s not like Sigrun couldn’t understand. 

For the past few nights, she had seen the decline of Emil’s rest. He slept later than they all did, and woke up faster than the dawn could even peak before the horizon. The bags beneath his eyes had grown, and the tired look to him wore heavy on his frame. Whatever they had encountered out there, besides the Giant that lay waste inside of that city, Sigrun assumed it had affected them drastically and had pushed the two soldiers together to become each other’s lifeline. Sigrun could understand that. She had felt like that once, back when she was on her first team. To depend on someone with your life, and for them to depend on your’s. 

When you’re pushed to the brink, and have become sure enough to taste death on your tongue, would you really come out fine and intact? Could you even fully believe you were alive after all, once you’ve felt the crippling suddenness of death? People lose a part of themselves and are slowly stripped away by their own fear and terror. Especially the terror of losing one of your teammates right before your eyes. It would be no wonder why one would cling to the living, the same way the ghosts or spirits leeched off of their warmth, even after death. They needed a lifeline to their world. 

_That’s why Sigrun was so reluctant to try and even entertain the thought of tearing these two apart, even though she was aware this could grow into something more._ She didn’t want to destroy what connection they had with each other. And she reasoned with herself, _this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing anyway._

Lalli had just lost Tuuri. And from the looks of it, Emil had nearly lost Lalli. 

Loss was something hard to deal with, especially to Sigrun who felt like a failure of a leader. She had wanted to prove that she could keep them all alive and together. That she was capable of leading and protecting her squad and to steer them away from danger. _And she had failed._ But all Sigrun could do was swallow her loss, and keep on going--at least, for their sake. She was a soldier, through and through, who dealt with her loss by pushing herself harshly. If her boys dealt with their losses and their nightmares this way, who was she to judge? 

_Besides_ , she sighed to herself, _the expedition was over now, at least._

She would have no reason to reprimand them and keep them from each other, when it would clearly be of no use. If anything, the two idiots needed this time for themselves.

Sigrun let a rare, soft smile split her face at the sight of the two cuddlers. “You nearly scared me, Scout. Thought I’d lost you a second time, you know? I can’t bear to lose another one of you after the other pipsqueak,” she said, mostly to herself. Motion in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she cast her gaze towards Mikkel who had woken up, and had just raised his brows at what Sigrun had been staring at. With a mischievous grin, she winked at Mikkel and brought a finger to her lips. “Just leave them like that. Pretend we never saw a thing.” 

“Isn’t it unprofessional?” He asked, gesturing lightly to them. He was skeptical, but fully trusted Sigurn, since it didn’t really matter to him. What affairs his comrades dabbled in was their own, as long as they left his own matters alone. 

With an innocent look tossed towards Mikkel’s way, Sigrun looked around in mock wonder. “Professional? What’s unprofessional? I don’t see a thing.” Mikkel cracked a small grin at that, nodding along. 

“Ah, you’re right. I do not see a thing either. My bad.” Mikkel replied easily, standing up and making sure to be as silent as much as his big frame allowed him, letting the other three comrades of theirs get some much needed rest, though Reynir had been all but doing that since they'd arrived. Lalli and Emil still needed to regain their energy and appetite. Mikkel stretched his sore back and neck, before approaching Sigrun to check on her arm once more.

Afterwards, Mikkel was nudged by Sigrun, who pointed on top of one of the larger shelves, where a box up there lay innocent and sprinkled with large amounts of dust. “Let’s go salvage some more of what this old dusty place could provide us. There could be _some_ booze if we’re lucky,” 

Behind them, the sun blazed softly and brightly as a morning greeting, and though Lalli couldn’t keep _all_ of Emil’s nightmares at bay, waking up feeling nearly rested and with his head in between Lalli’s hands were enough. And if Mikkel and Sigrun were disapproving of the way Lalli and Emil were entangled with one another (though their innocent looks and mischievous smiles said anything but), then Emil never noticed. If anything, it made the day even better. 

In the Silent World, there were so many more things to lose. Yes, Emil could gain money once he came back, but he could’ve lost his life and brought Lalli down with him. Out in the Silent World, there was no soul to hear their last breaths, their silly banter, and see the stupidity of some of their actions. There was no lavish home and safe sprawling lands to indulge; no delicious food, comfy beds, and the safety of family, with a roaring fire in the hearth (one that Emil indulged in his lonesome back in his old house). If anything, the Silent World was all a Vasterstrom was _not_ supposed to have suffered through in their life. 

And yet, _dirt--_ Emil touched. He struggled, and put in effort, and he fought, and ran, and managed not to care about his looks anymore ( _ha, well, sort of. He was still conscious about his hair_ ). Emil had changed, and survived with the taste of death, fresh on his tongue.

Yet, as he studied Lalli’s face across from his, he found that the struggles were okay--actually, it was _worth it_ . Emil knew this was far from a story of success and glory. _It hardly felt like it._

But as Lalli cracked his eyes open, and patted Emil’s hair ( _golden and spun like thread from the sun_ ), Emil found that he was alive, and though it _wasn’t_ close to glory, _it was close enough._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope ya'll enjoyed this, and if you have any comments or thoughts, please go ahead and leave a few! I'm open and sort of desperate for feedback!!!!
> 
> stay safe you guys, muwah!
> 
> -acina <333


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